


As Luck Would Have It

by ninetiesnecklace



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Light Masochism, M/M, Mugging, beaten-up George, healing cock, just Ross not being an asshole for once, or fluffy h/c, reluctantly caring Ross, the "pressure on wounds" kind, this is still no romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-29 10:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetiesnecklace/pseuds/ninetiesnecklace
Summary: George finds himself in the gutter. Bruised, relieved of his money, humiliated.And who should walk by but Ross Poldark.





	1. Chapter 1

The only thing that kept George from falling over was the wall in his back. He sat against it in a crouched position, one hand pushed against the cold bricks, the other wrapped protectively across his stomach. He breathed out in a strained breath and another gush of blood ran from his nose, dropped onto his coat and on the dusty ground. Everything hurt. George knew that his nose should probably cause the most pain but right now he couldn’t tell which part of his body was bruised the worst; his every cell seemed to react in pain and exhaustion, the throbbing of his pulse clearly palpable in every limb. With ginger fingers he reached for his kerchief and dabbed at his nose. On his tongue he tasted blood from where he had bitten the inside of his cheek during the attack.

George closed his eyes for a moment and leaned heavily against the wall. He didn’t know how this had happened. One moment he was walking down the short cut to get to the Red Lion, the next he was cornered by three men who grabbed, punched, robbed him. And left him here in the gutter, in the middle of the night. Two punches to the face, several kicks to his ribcage and strong hands that locked his arms to keep him in place; George felt the impact still. He spat out and the taste of blood only slightly receded. What a mess he was.

If only he had stuck to his original plan for this evening. But the gaming party had been entertaining and his stroke of luck had persisted longer than usual – when George had checked the time he briefly considered whether to try the remainder of his luck at the Red Lion. Ross might be there and after the winning and the odd drink he had allowed himself George felt rather in the mood for company. If Ross didn’t already have a whore in his lap he was sure that he would spend the next hour on his back, taken thoroughly by Ross and his delicious need to dominate. It had naturally fallen into place after Ross had come back from America. In public they despised each other like they had before. In private, however, they followed a different routine, entirely detached from reality. They met, they fucked with abandon, they left. No feelings were involved in this carnal act and so far it hadn’t intervened with their professional business either – their meetings did nothing to ease the contempt they felt for each other. And until now these things hadn’t influenced each other. George shivered in pain. If he had stayed at the card table or headed home right away without wasting a thought on Ross he wouldn’t cower in the gutter like a peasant, relieved of his money and utterly humiliated.

_Get yourself home, fix yourself up_. George whimpered quietly as he tried to get back on his feet, failing miserably. How he should follow his own advice and make it to the townhouse he didn’t know yet. This was a dingy part of town even though it was only a few streets from the Red Lion. Maybe if he made it to the main road he could find a carriage. If they would take him, given his state. Sweat drenched the back of his shirt and still he clung to the wall, no further along than before.

The dark clatter of heavy boots on cobblestone echoed through the dark alley and broke the otherwise quiet night. George froze. If this were his attackers he effectively couldn’t offer opposition and find himself in a situation that would certainly not end well. But as the steps came closer George realised that the sound belonged to only one pair of boots. Curse his luck. George made himself smaller and crouched closer to the wall as if he wanted to disappear completely. Which, in a way, was true. And even though this position was unbecoming to a Warleggan the alternative of being seen like this appealed even less.

The steps came closer and George just wished for the man to pass by. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at him, to see whether he presented a threat. Confident pace, straight posture – no, this wasn’t one of the men who had attacked him. But still he seemed strangely familiar to George. Something about the long strides and the way the tricorne sat atop a shock of dark curls.

Ross.

George breathed out and closed his eyes for a moment. Of all the people he could run into it _had_ to be Ross. And if George recognised him across the distance the chance that he was identified too wasn’t too slim. George tried to remain still and hoped that the night played in his favour. Ross walked and only slowed slightly, throwing a glance at him and walking on. George’s nerves fluttered but just as he thought Ross to have gone past him the other man’s steps stopped.

“George?”

_Damn it._ George didn’t answer and avoided Ross’ searching eyes. Maybe if he didn’t react Ross would move on. He couldn’t be entirely sober after a night at the pub. And after all, George thought bitterly, who would like to get mixed up with people in such a situation as he was in right now? It usually meant nothing but trouble and a potential violent confrontation. But Ross hovered, turning George’s original hope of being with company into the opposite wish.

Ross took a step away from George, uncertain, but he could still feel his gaze on him.

“George, is that you?” Ross asked again, his speech almost entirely smooth.

George sighed quietly. So much for him being drunk, so much for his game of hiding. His luck had certainly run out.

“Move along, Poldark” he said. His voice shook, a stark contrast to the dismissive words he spat out.

“No reason to stay,” Ross said briskly and even though George didn’t look him in the eyes he could tell the shift in his mood. _Good_. The last thing George wanted was to be pitied by Ross Poldark.

Gathering what remained of his strength George tried to stand up again, and this time he managed to get back on his feet. The wall supported most of his weight and when a sudden bout of dizziness made him stumble he dug his fingers into the joints. What a pathetic self-representation he was delivering. Cold sweat formed on his brow and as he glanced down the road he saw Ross’ silhouette. He had moved only a few steps, still hovering in the vicinity. Well, George would certainly not acknowledge what happened here. If he didn’t interact there’d be no social situation which he had to handle. And whatever Ross was doing in his voyeur-like stance was none of his business. Or so the banker tried to believe.

George took in a heavy breath and closed his eyes for a second. Spots were dancing behind his lids and when he opened them again the world took a split second to rearrange itself. How to get home he still did not know but one thing was clear: he would not ask Ross. Why was he still standing there in the half-light, stuck to the ground like a goddamn tree?  Gloating must be more agreeable to him than George had thought.

“I said move along,” George said huskily. “I’m sure you have business elsewhere.”

“Oh, I do,” Ross answered immediately, dismissal in his low voice. No gloating then. Just good old annoyance at an inconvenience. _Just leave_ , George implored him silently, when Ross went on.

“But you can barely stand.”

“Poldark,” George tried to give his voice a nonchalant tone that sounded awfully forced in his own ears. “Attend to your friends or drink or whatever it is that requires your consideration. I shall take a carriage and retire.”

Across the alley George saw Ross’ posture straighten in anger rather than delight. “You know as well as I that there are no carriages around here.”

“What is it to you?” George snapped and the bout of energy in his body sent another wave of dulled pain through him.

“You’re one stubborn bastard,” Ross snarled and shook his head. “Well then, tell me to go and I will bother you no longer. _Warleggan_.”

George pressed his lips together and said nothing as he stared at Ross. His legs quivered slightly now that he didn’t lean onto the wall as heavily; walking anywhere without at least a cane (which he hadn’t carried today, of all days) would be near to impossible until the immediate effects of the attack wore off. Whether he liked it or not he was dependent on Ross’ help.

In defeat George lowered his gaze, nodding subtly. He’d worry about the ramifications of this night later, once he was safely at home.

Ross nodded and when he arrived next to him George motioned him to his right – his left side had taken the worst hits. Ross’ arm wound carefully around his hip, more carefully than George had anticipated, and the banker leaned against him, laying his right arm around Ross’ shoulder. Even though Ross was a tad taller than him George felt the immediate support, his legs somewhat relieved of his weight as he tried not to lean on him fully. A quiet sigh escaped his lips and moved a stray curl of Ross’.

“Townhouse,” George grunted and without another word the two men began to walk.

Ross’ broad frame at his side offered more than George intended to accept. Part of him felt red hot in embarrassment and subsequent anger but his bruised body couldn’t uphold the pride his mind clung to. His breath came raggedly again and his vision was inhibited by the swelling around his eye, not to mention the general shakiness. With every step George leaned heavier on Ross, tentatively at first, waiting for a snide remark. But much to George’s surprise he remained quiet and merely adjusted his grip to better support his body.

The streets were deserted, luckily. As Ross had predicted not one carriage passed them and George silently thanked him for not making him ask for help. Not long and the townhouse lay quietly in front of them, no passers-by, no illumination. George glanced up to the windows of his room and saw the heavy curtains drawn – his staff must have prepared his room and gone to bed. _Good_. Maybe he could enter unseen lest word got out about his state.

“I’ll call your servants,” Ross said.

“No.” George’s answer was too fast to be considered composed. “There is no need,” he added weakly. _I am sufficiently humiliated already_.

George took his arm from around Ross’ shoulder to fumble for his keys, distinctly aware of Ross’ hand on his hips, and opened the large door. Soundlessly it swung in its hinges and both men crossed the threshold; Ross’ strong grip was back on George, helping with the cumbersome task of climbing the stairs. The banker bit his lip so that neither a pained gasp nor a word of thanks could interrupt the quietness between them. The house lay silent still when George opened the door to his room.

A fire was burning low in the fireplace and illuminated the room in flickering shadows. In the middle of the room a large four-poster bed was placed and next to it a bed stand, upon which the servants had placed a glass of water and a candle. The light from the flames didn’t fully reach the desk on the right side of the door but the set of glasses and a carafe of brandy dimly reflected the short flashes.

They walked towards the bed and with a pained groan George let himself sink down on the silky bedcover, his torso tilted forward. _Finally_ he was home, minutes away of crawling under the duvet and shutting down, forgetting all about this dreadful night. He took a sip of water to rid himself of the taste of blood and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to his own breathing and Ross’ steps around the room, moving to the desk across the room and rummaging, the clinking of glasses, faint splashing of the washbowl.

George opened his eyes again when Ross offered him a wetted towel. With a nod he took it and began to wipe along his nose carefully. It was tender to the touch, the fabric rubbing coarsely across the bruised skin, but it didn’t feel broken. The blood was barely dried and after a few wipes George folded the towel over to press the clean, cold side against his swollen left eye. The pressure made him hiss but after the initial pain he felt the cold seep into his heated skin.

Ross had taken off his tricone and coat in the meantime, placed on the chair, and critically looked at the two glasses he had poured. Then, he grabbed the bottle and topped up both drinks before taking them over to George. The banker lifted the drink to his lips and took a large gulp that burned harshly in his throat, replacing the pain for a moment. Warmth flooded his chest and with a bit of luck it would extend to his limps to make him comfortably numb.

Ross looked at him with furrowed brows. “What happened?”

What did happen indeed. George’s recollection was hazy at best; the attack had happened incredibly fast and he had reacted on instinct.

“Got mugged,” George murmured, determined to keep the miserable tale short and swirling the drink in the glass. Ross’ gaze on him made him uneasy – here was a man notorious for not shying away from physical confrontations and absurdly, George wanted to justify himself.

“There were three of them,” he went on, louder now but still in that unsteady speech he couldn’t seem to shake. “I hit one in the stomach, another in the face but they overpowered me.”

The only comment Ross offered was a silent nod as he leaned against the desk.

This whole situation was beyond odd, George thought suddenly, despite the way this night had progressed they still ended up in his bedroom. In a strange subversion of the usual course of events.

“Take off your coat,” Ross said and George hesitated. He was embarrassed enough as it was. There was no need to display his failure plainly, with Ross’ eyes on him. Just then Ross pushed himself off the table and added, “Let’s see if anything needs to be bandaged.”

Fair enough. George took another long swallow from his glass, put the towel on his bed stand and shed his coat in slow movements. Freeing his right arm in an awkward turn was one thing but god, his left side throbbed painfully and he barely managed to slide down the garment without increasing the pressure. Ross reached out to help him but George threw him a heated look – his pride had taken as many blows as his body and this little challenge was the last piece of it he clung on to. Ross lowered his hand and waited, taking the coat and putting it over the chair once George had shrugged it off. Another glance from George and Ross turned to the fireplace wordlessly to stoke the fire.

George breathed out slowly now that Ross’ gaze wasn’t on him anymore. His heart beat heavily from the small exertion but at least the heaviest garment was shed. His hands moved to the buttons of his waistcoat and only then did he see the swelling on his knuckles. It seemed that every part of his body was a reminder that he had been hopelessly inferior. He pressed his teeth together and undid the small buttons with trembling hands, taking off the waistcoat in the same ungainly move as he had the coat. His right moved to his neckcloth and clumsily undid the knot. Red sprinkles covered the formerly white fabric and the alley’s dirt had given it a grimy shade. The shirt under it had also suffered – the seams under his left arm were torn and the thin material had given way easily.

Only the shirt left, George thought, and opened the buttons on the cuff and chest. Grabbing the collar with his right he pulled the shirt over his head and after the second attempt finally managed to peel it off his bruised skin. Heat from the kindled flames crept over to the bed and wrapped itself around George almost comfortingly.

He picked up the glass from the bed stand, swallowing another gulp of burning liquor before took a look at Ross’ shadow outlined against the fireplace.

“Well then,” George said, voice coarse from exhaustion and drink, and Ross turned around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to finish this way earlier, sorry about that. And thanks if you're still reading! I hope you enjoy the smut :)

For a moment Ross simply stared at George and the banker could swear he saw his lips part in a deep exhale as his eyes took him in. A glint of… of _something_ shimmered in Ross’ gaze. Either George was injured worse than he had thought or… but before he could ascertain its meaning Ross moved and sat down on the bedside across from the banker.

George’s heart jumped when Ross’ weight made the mattress shift. Both of them on this bed while his chest was bared, Ross’ eyes on his naked skin while he was almost fully clothed – despite himself George felt a shiver run through him, the situation a memory and a glimpse into the immediate future alike. _If it weren’t for the mugging_. Force of habit and a glass of brandy drunk too fast.

“There’s ointment in the bed stand,” George mumbled. “For the wounds.”

Ross quickly wetted his lips before he stretched out to grab the jar from George’s drawer, putting it in the small space between them. Then, he turned the sleeves of his shirt up. His hands worked efficiently and George felt his eyes drawn to the thick forearms covered in dark hair, the veins snaking under his skin. The exposed patch of Ross’ skin was a concession to his own nakedness, somehow. George’s head swam from both the brandy and the assault and in the back of his mind he was aware of his lingering eyes, blurring the line that should be clear.

Before the thought could take hold George’s gaze followed Ross’ to look at the damage on his torso for the first time. His chest was mostly unharmed and only adorned with a reddish bruise that extended to his left ribcage. But underneath – George swallowed heavily as he saw the oddly colourful effusion of blood on his stomach and waist. Across from him Ross opened the jar and coated the fingers of his right in the ointment; the faint smell of camomile tingled soothingly in George’s nostrils but when Ross stretched out his hand he flinched.

“Relax,” Ross murmured, “It looks worse than it is. I’ll be careful.”

George almost scoffed at the comment but bit his tongue – throwing Ross’ help back in his face certainly wasn’t the way to go here and it was only sensible that he took stock of his injuries. But neither the strange anticipation nor his fear of another bout of pain made George a particularly relaxed patient. Ross’ hands reached out again and slick fingertips met George’s tense chest. A shiver ran through him; exhaustion rather than pain, George guessed, as the brandy slowly seeped into his bones.

Ross hadn’t lied. His touch was surprisingly gentle and despite himself, George felt his muscles relax. The contact on the superficial bruise wasn’t particularly painful, thankfully, rather a dull pressure that almost felt… pleasant as it coordinated with the heavy beats of his heart. George breathed out and Ross moved on efficiently, spreading the ointment on his skin. His eyes were fastened on George’s chest and his own fingers and something in the concentrated expression appealed to the banker. Maybe the drawn brows, giving his expression intensity, and the slightly parted lips shimmering in the light of the flames. George felt like reaching out to brush his finger along the curve of Ross’ lower lip – an odd impulse he could just about suppress as Ross made his way along his chest to brush over his thumping heart and down his ribcage. George tasted salt on his own lip, the enticing pressure of Ross’ warm hands travelling through him.

Ross left the light bruise behind and when he pressed on the reddish patch just above his last rib something sharp ignited his nerves under Ross’ touch. God. George drew in a sharp breath as it cut through the even throbbing of his body with the precision of a blade, sudden and clean for all its sharpness. Whether it was pain or pleasure was guesswork but George couldn’t help himself: a shaky moan crawled out of his throat at the pressure on his sensitive skin, Ross’ proximity to his bare chest – another shiver ran through him and this time found its way to his cock.

 _This isn’t right_. George’s mind knew that this was a far cry from a sexual situation but his body simply reacted. The formerly gentle drumming in his veins changed to a deeper quality, his pulse quickened. However unbecoming of a gentleman, however improper in this situation – for a split second he wanted Ross to repeat the touch. George felt himself grow hard as a whirl of emotion surged through him. Embarrassment, a spark of pain, sudden desire and then Ross looked up at him. George couldn’t escape Ross’ gaze and he was sure that the brunet read all of his conflicting emotions as if George’s face were an open book. The dark eyes bore into him with an indecipherable expression but of one thing George was sure: it was neither disgust nor ridicule that Ross offered him. George opened his mouth to speak words he had yet to decide on, to justify himself, but Ross simply broke eye contact and returned to his examination. His fingers outlined the bruise again with less pressure than before but it made no difference to George when a sharp-ish tingle rushed down from the wound, through his groin and into his cock. God, this was so… so bizarre but what really hooked him was the fact that Ross provoked this reaction, making George’s cock press against his breeches where the fine fabric did nothing to conceal the fact.

Ross’ hand moved further down and George felt sweat building on his brow. His mind was reeling with possibilities his conscious thoughts tried to push aside when Ross laid his left on George’s thigh. The banker breathed out shakily as the heat of Ross’ touch seeped through to his skin and up to his groin. George wasn’t a man of many principles and it weren’t moral concerns that held him back. No, if anything he was surprised that _this_ was fit to arouse him. The pressure of Ross’ left seemed to increase and his right moved lower towards George’s waistband, across another bruise and even though the sensation was muted George couldn’t help but moan. His eyes shut and all of the sudden there were Ross’ lips on his, vibrating under George’s moan.

George’s heart beat hard as Ross kissed him with a low sigh. His lips were soft and downright gentle when they brushed against George’s mouth, almost a ghost of a kiss but tasting too much like brandy and _Ross_ to be an illusion. Ross grasped his leg tighter and leaned forward – the kiss remained gentle and George’s lips reacted in kind. A tender brush to the full lower lip, barely touching.

George’s head spun. This was utterly strange. Not only the softness of the kiss or his arousal but _Ross_. Ross making the move now, here, among wound ointment and reddish bruises. Maybe he actually enjoyed seeing him hurt, George thought, the fact that he had been inferior and bore it on his skin. Or it was more basic than that, that Ross liked inflicting pain. But their previous encounters had never incorporated that feature and when Ross hesitated before he ran his tongue lightly across George’s lip the banker shivered. There was something akin to shyness in the kiss and even though his hand squeezed his thigh in determination George almost tasted Ross’ hesitation. With a low hum George slid his tongue against Ross’ and it seemed that was all he needed. Ross kissed him, still lightly, but now there was heat in his kiss – the hint of a strained breath and his tongue moved against George’s in enticing pressure. A longing sigh slipped from George’s lips when Ross’ warm hand on his stomach slid lower, past his waistband, and brushed across his cock.

“Ross,” George whispered, almost inaudible, as the brunet broke the kiss. His eyes looked black and George saw his throat move in a dry swallow. For Ross was as aroused as he was and with sudden clarity George knew he wanted this. Whatever this was, no matter how odd given the circumstances: the pressure on his cock felt right and Ross’ parted lips and dark gaze relieved him of all doubt.

George reached out slowly and his hands found Ross’ shirt, already unbuttoned at the throat. The tan skin stood in contrast to the almost-white fabric and when George’s fingertips stroked across the hollow of his throat Ross licked his lips. His fingers trembled as George outlined the neckline of the shirt, stroking along the warm skin. Dark chest hair peeked out already and George’s fingertips found the buttons. The bruises on his knuckles seemed dull in the dim light of the fireplace, muted as much as the rest of George’s bruises. His heart beat slow and hard, brandy and arousal in his veins that warmed his body. And the sight of Ross’ naked chest that George revealed one by one.

His eyes travelled across every inch of the newly bared skin and along the line of hair that led directly to his breeches. George bit his lips when he saw the outline of Ross’ erection and felt his deep breaths under his fingers. He undid the last button and slid his hands back up, pushing the shirt off the brunet’s shoulders. Ross shrugged it off and a moment later his hands were back on George’s thighs, sliding upwards to brush over his cock. George moaned quietly and when Ross leaned forward again to kiss the side of his throat a hot shiver ran through him. God, Ross’ lips against his thumping pulse, the hint of a tongue running over it… The smell of him in his nostrils made George dizzy and just then Ross’ hands moved on to his waistband. George held his breath for a second, waiting for another shot of confusing-arousing pain to surge through him. But Ross carefully avoided the bruise and a faint pressure tingled along George’s nerves, prickling, teasing and making him gasp when Ross undid his breeches. Just the slightest touch fuelled the throbbing in his body and without a doubt George knew he wanted _more_. Yet for a split second he wondered how to go about it – his left side was bruised and the muscles in his stomach quivered at the smallest exertion.

It almost seemed that Ross felt his worry. He pulled back from his throat and looked into his eyes as he pushed against George and then there were Ross’ hands in his back. It felt strange but with something akin to trust George leaned back. The gentle pressure supported his weight to keep all tension from his bruised torso as Ross lowered him onto the mattress. George’s heart beat hard. This unexpected attention and consideration for his state was nothing he had trusted Ross with before tonight. But there was care in his movements and the slow, lingering path onto the mattress… almost as if they were young lovers, with all the eroticism of a new experience ahead.  His cock pressed firmly against his undone breeches when George felt the pillow in his neck.

George breathed out shakily as he looked up at Ross. Far, way too far Ross hovered over him and slowly pulled his hands from his back. Wild curls fell into his eyes and framed his face, his parted lips gleaming so invitingly that all fatigue from earlier was gone. Sure, George still felt exhausted but it did not really matter anymore. Not with the drumming in his veins and Ross kneeling between his legs, his naked chest shining warmly in the firelight. George felt sweat build on his temples but before he could reach out Ross leaned down and kissed the spot where his neck met his throat. Ross avoided his bruised skin and kissed down the unharmed side of his body. His hot breath ghosted over George’s nipple and when Ross closed his mouth over it George gasped out. God, this teasing suction was so good, and his clever tongue never failed to arouse him. Sensitive as he was on that spot, Ross somehow managed to draw out _more_ from him. His mouth left George’s nipple and a second later he blew his breath over the wet skin.

“Ross,” George moaned loudly as the sudden coolness sent a shiver along his chest. Gooseflesh broke out on his skin and on instinct, George’s hips began to roll. His right darted out and grabbed a fistful of Ross’ curls while his left held on to his upper arm.

Ross didn’t touch him – his weight was still on his propped up arms and he moved down further, dragging his lips along George’s naked side. George couldn’t take his eyes from the other man. Ross’ shoulders shifted with every centimetre he moved down, the muscles working under the smooth skin and giving a hint of how muscular his back must look like. The movements made the mattress shift as Ross crawled lower but still with the tantalising distance between their bodies. George couldn’t help but wish for Ross’ arms to give in, to feel him against him; if it weren’t for the bruises that shimmered in dark colours next to the unruly curls of Ross’ that left a tingling trail on his stomach. The black was a stark contrast to the paleness of his unharmed skin and George’s dizzy, tipsy mind supplied him with images that only made him harder. Ross between his legs, lips around his cock, stroking over his bruises and moaning as he sucked… The banker licked his lips and just then Ross sat back on his heels.

His fingers hooked into George’s waistband and with a deep look at him Ross pulled. George gasped quietly as the fabric brushed over his cock, a phantom stroke that spoke of things to come, and with effort he lifted his hips. Ross pulled the breeches off George’s skin entirely and with a dull thud the garment fell to the floor. A shiver of anticipation ran through him when he saw Ross’ gaze: firmly fastened on George’s cock Ross’ eyes glinted with arousal verging on hunger and George could just about bite his lips before a whimper threatened to sound.

The utter concentration on Ross’ face was intoxicating. Here George was, naked, his left side decorated with bruises and the promise of a thin line between pain and pleasure, and still Ross wanted him. And in the strangest of circumstances, with the strangest of desires George wanted him too. The rational part of his brain insisted that there was something… odd about this, that his exhaustion and the threat of pain should be the decisive factor here but George knew he was beyond reasoning when Ross kicked off his boots and moved onto the bed. George spread his legs further to make room and his blood rushed in his ears when Ross looked at him: intense, serious, aroused. He crawled between George’s legs and when he laid his left on his thigh his right wrapped around George’s cock. Working hands, coarse and rough against his soft skin. The grip wasn’t tight but just the _sensation_ … Nice and easy, a lazy rhythm but George’s heart beat in staccato.

Warmth seeped into his cock and _damn_ it felt good. George looked down his torso, past the bruises and to Ross’ pumping hand – his cock in Ross’ grip shone dimly with the residue of the ointment, the head a flush colour that almost mirrored his wounds. Every upstroke gave George a shiver of pleasure and god, that occasional brush over the tip… Ross knew what he liked and his eyes on George claimed the acknowledgement he deserved. George met his gaze and as if this was a silent sign Ross’ free hand moved – up his thigh, his groin, to the vicinity of the bruises. A shaky moan crawled out of George’s throat, a hint of anticipated nervousness mixing into his arousal at the feather-light touch.

“God, George,” Ross murmured with his eyes fixed on George’s stomach. The banker could hear the suspense in Ross’ voice, the same bizarre arousal and bewilderment that had kicked off this encounter. Ross worked his cock in well-paced strokes as George watched his long fingers slide across his stomach, the fingertips mere centimetres away from the dark red patch.

George heard himself breathe hard. This couldn’t possibly be pleasurable and it would take only one move of his hand to stop Ross. Stop him from seeing with his hands, from inflicting pain when he had already been hurt enough today. But Ross’ touch was nothing like the assault in the alley. His hands felt warm on George’s skin, his touch light and aiming to please rather than injure, and George couldn’t forget the strange sensation that had led to this moment.

Ross looked up into George’s eyes, the question unspoken yet asked, and without a second thought George nodded. Ross’ fingers moved and when they reached the harmed skin George’s voice gave out. A hoarse groan hurt his throat as sparks of sheer _intensity_ scattered through him. It wasn’t pain George felt but neither could he be sure it was pleasure. It felt sharp, cutting, but somehow building onto George’s arousal, taking it and multiplying it tenfold. He inhaled sharply, a hissing sound that dissolved into a moan because _fuck_ , this felt incredible, this shock of… of whatever this was. Deep in his groin he felt pressure building and without George’s doing his hips jerked against Ross’ grip: the sensation was too strong to be kept bottled up inside and god, the extra friction on his cock tingled, a soothing antidote to the wild rush that held him captive. George tried to catch his breath but to no avail – his chest rose and fell in quick succession and between his legs he saw the dark look of Ross’ eyes on him, almost black, fixed on him and taking up every little detail of his reaction. Sweat clung to George’s skin, his ears ringing with his own moans and a low growl from Ross that sounded so incredibly _hot_. Ross’ fingers on his skin lingered but the pressure eased up yet George was still caught in the intensity. His skin pulsated under the touch, his cock felt so incredibly hard against Ross’ palm and the sharpness in his veins… George had never felt his body like that before – more alight than it had ever been, every inch of his nerves on fire. His eyes told him that Ross’ hand slowly left his bruise, that there was nothing that could provoke this reaction anymore, and still he could hear himself moan and feel the bed sheet under his back as he moved uncontrollably. God, what a mess he must look, sweaty, beaten-up, hard, and enjoying every bit the pressure his arch-nemesis had put on his injuries.

“Ross,” George moaned, or tried to: whether there was any kind of coherent sound coming out of his mouth wasn’t for him to determine. Between his legs Ross still looked at him with that focussed, hungry look and then he leaned over him, pushed his hand down to the base of George’s cock and sucked the tip into his mouth.

George all but whimpered when he felt the wet warmth that engulfed his cock and his hands grabbed the sheets. God, this was almost too much for him, too much attention and stimulation if it didn’t feel this good. Pressure built in his groin but somehow George knew he couldn’t come yet; too many impulses were affecting him, throwing his body around like a plaything. His eyes fell shut and sparks danced behind his lids – the colour of Ross’ eyes, of his bruises, of lust. Another wave and George’s hips jerked again but then there was Ross’ free left hand to push him down, his right elbow digging into his hips as if to demand obedience. And George wanted to comply badly. His hips pushing against the pressure needed this kind of restraint – the immediate sharpness of the sensation was gone but the aftershocks were still in his blood, spreading the alluring feeling through his entire body. George gasped and tasted sweat on his upper lip as he tried to catch his breath. His cells were drumming with attention and lust and it was only Ross’ grip that gave George the hint of an anchor to reality.

“Ross,” he moaned again, a last squirming before he could finally regain control over his hips. Ross’ soft lips felt amazing on his hard cock as they slid up and down smoothly – an entirely different sensation than the sharp reaction from before but just as good. With every bob of his head Ross took in more of his erection and George’s heart-rate seemed to slow down only to beat all the harder, drumming in his chest and vibrating through his entire body. He could still almost _feel_ the outline of the bruise Ross had touched. Dull, muted, and keeping the memory fresh. George shivered as Ross sucked harder; somehow this all built on the feeling from before and god, it was exhilarating. A blowjob from Ross was a special treat in any scenario, rare and therefore treasured, but like this?

Between his legs George saw the brunet’s cheek hollow; the light caught the pronounced cheekbones and the spit on the bankers cock before Ross bobbed his head again, taking him in once more. George gasped and his left darted out to grab a shock of the black curls, soft between his fingers when Ross grunted around his cock. The muscles in his naked back shifted beautifully and the tingling in George’s groin intensified. And without a doubt in his exhausted, brandy-soaked mind he knew that he wanted to be fucked.

George shivered under the sheer insistence of the thought. He was so aroused and part of him wanted to test just how far this could go, how it would feel in the state he was in. Without hesitation he let go of Ross’ curls and fumbled for the jar of ointment on the mattress – there it was, the glass so cool against his heated skin, and with an ungainly shove he send the jar towards Ross. The angle was off. The jar hit him in the elbow and Ross stopped his movements. His eyes caught George’s as he pulled off slowly and for a moment the banker simply stared. This image. Ross’ mouth around his cock, leaving his skin shiny with his saliva and flush with suction, his body bruised in different colours, Ross’ curls falling into his eyes, the veins in his neck pronounced as he looked at him. This very image seemed to burn onto George’s retinas and god, he wanted to retain it.

With an obscene sound Ross pulled off his cock and a gush of breath cooled the spit in George’s skin. The banker’s mouth ran dry – Ross’ eyes were on him, calm yet with a hint of a question. And for the second time on this extraordinary night George answered with a nod. Ross licked his lips, the taste of George surely still lingering on them, and took the jar. Nervousness rose in George as he watched Ross coat his fingers with the ointment but one look at the other man told him he had made the right decision: Ross’ mouth was slightly agape, his eyes dark with lust and a small sound stumbled over his lips that made George swallow dryly.

“Fuck, George,” Ross murmured hoarsely and leaned forward again. George gasped as his mouth closed around his hard cock, as he watched Ross’ torso stretch sensually, and then he felt Ross’ slick finger against his entrance.

George’s breath hitched and the muscles in his stomach contracted at the sudden touch – a sharp stroke surged through him as his damaged body reacted and _fuck_ … George groaned out loudly and threw back his head, offering his body up to Ross and to the purity of the sensation. He leaned further into the mattress and pillow and between his legs he felt Ross shift. His finger massaged his entrance in small circles while his mouth still sucked on George’s cock, slowly, leisurely, and it was this combination that caught George just as the pain/pleasure threatened to let him fall. Without his doing George’s hands grabbed the sheets tightly, his legs spread further and then there was another of Ross’ fingers, stroking, teasing, slicking him up. George’s breath came strained but inside him he felt the urgency recede – again the pressure he felt eased up and left but a drumming tension in him. God, this constant change from even arousal to sharp need was so frustrating but so _good_ ; George could hardly imagine what Ross’ cock up his arse would feel in this particular whirl of sensation. Before he could follow up on the thought Ross’ even movements led him back as he slowly pushed his finger inside him. George’s body gave no resistance and the banker breathed out in a pleased sigh when he felt Ross’ finger moving. Slick and with a gentle push it moved deeper while Ross’ mouth sucked his cock in equal slowness. In any other circumstance George would have debated that Ross was capable of such an interplay. Usually it was George who encouraged it and brought to the bedroom anything that wasn’t a rough fuck. Yet here they were and what made it all the more arousing were the small sounds of pleasure Ross uttered. They tickled along George’s cock in teasing vibration and when the banker looked at Ross he saw the clouded look in his eyes. Ross pushed in a second finger and in tune he dragged his tongue firmly along the underside of George’s cock.

“Ross,” George moaned, all other words forgotten when the brunet pleasured him like that. He could hardly believe the readiness Ross showed to make him feel good but then again, all he could concentrate on was the wet warmth of Ross’ mouth on his cock, the slow drag inside him, and occasional scratch of his stubble on the inside of his thighs. The ingredients for an utterly addictive drug and George was already hooked. Fatigue pulled on his muscles but at the same time he was alert, not risking to miss any of this deliciously strange scene.

“Please, Ross,” George said, breathlessly. “Please.”

It wasn’t begging but it sure as hell wasn’t devoid of need. Slowly, so slowly and with an extra bout of suction Ross pulled his head back. Mesmerized, George stared at him, watching his cock part the red lips for another moment. Then, Ross pulled off with a wet sound. His fingers inside George moved and when the brunet pulled them out as well George couldn’t help but wince at this sudden loss of pressure.

Ross didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to. In his eyes George saw desire and his fingertips dug into his thigh. His face seemed sweaty and god, the dim shimmer to his lips was an almost unholy sight. In another situation George would honestly question whether he’d be able to follow through with what they had started – bruised and exhausted as he was – but god, the drumming in his blood only intensified when Ross looked at him with hunger. Here he lay, bruised and aroused and so ready to feel Ross’ cock inside him.

Ross leaned down again and rubbed his stubble along the inside of George’s thigh before he moved – upwards, next to George, and before the banker could worry about finding the right position Ross’ hands were on him. Gently, he took hold of George’s shoulder and pushed him on his right side. And George simply let it happen. No pain surged through him as he moved and Ross’ hands were exactly where they needed to be, taking all the pressure of movement away from him until he rested comfortably on his side. It made sense – Ross had seen his bruises, he knew where he could touch him. And yet the experience was bizarre to George. This was nothing like the rough manhandling that was usually part of their meetings and at the same time Ross managed to touch him with a kind of naturalness rather than treating him like a wounded soldier.

His body still prickled with desire for Ross when the brunet let go of him. The very position sent another wave of lust into his cock with his prepared hole plainly offered to Ross.

At the same time, George let a deep breath flow from between his lips when he found a comfortable position. Just like he would lie at night when aiming to sleep, turning his back to the day’s work. George laid his head on his bent right arm while his left rested on the sheet; it was warm from the fire and the calming smell of fresh linen still clung to it. Across the room he saw the flames flickering in the fireplace, warming his naked skin like a blanket, and something inside him relaxed. A sense of calm that he hadn’t felt all night. A moment of privacy in the strangest of circumstances.

His muscles loosened up and George sighed quietly. In his back he heard the rustling of fabric as Ross rid himself of the few remaining clothes on his body. George’s heart beat slow and heavy against his chest, arousal and exhaustion balancing each other out in the most bizarre fashion. His cock still pressed against his stomach in muted urgency but he didn’t feel the need to touch himself – no, he could wait. Wait for Ross to touch and take him and maybe run his fingers along the outline of his bruises again… Without his doing George’s hips moved slightly at the thought and in his back he heard a sharp yet faint inhale from Ross.

The mattress moved and a moment later George felt Ross behind him – his body radiated warmth even without their skins touching. Ross moved closer and suddenly there was his mouth on George’s neck. A pleasant shiver ran down George’s spine when Ross dragged his lips along the column of his neck. Not a kiss but not far from it either. George’s body tingled in exhaustion and calm anticipation when Ross came closer. He felt Ross’ firm chest against his skin, his mouth on his neck and his hard cock pressed against his lower back. Oh, how badly he wanted this. Even if he felt his fatigue beginning to catch up with George, lured in by drink. Yet the sheer _presence_ of Ross was incredible, even more so now that he didn’t see him. Nothing like the imposing presence of the men in the alley. A different kind, almost shielding in its intensity.

Ross ran his left along George’s shoulder and into George’s sight when it advanced to his chest – the olive skin and long fingers roughened by work outside. The banker moaned quietly when Ross’ thumb brushed across his hard nipple, looking positively pink in the flickering light of the fire. George watched Ross’ hand move on, down his side with a touch as light as a feather, coming closer to the smudged edges of his bruises.

This time, George didn’t tense up. The ease he felt made him so... so pliable and Ross’ mouth in his neck only contributed to it. Ross’ thigh parted his legs from behind and moments later George felt his erection slide between his cheeks, press against his hole and with a firm thrust Ross’ cock pushed into him. Hard, slick, and without resistance. A shaky moan ripped from George’s lips and the next moment, the brunet set a decent pace.

Ross’ cock dragged along his passage like it belonged there. It stretched George’s hole just right and hit his walls in firm heaviness – a perfect massage, the first promise of things to come. A gush of breath hit the banker’s neck and something that sounded like his name caressed his ears in husky lowness. George licked his lip and in that moment he saw Ross’ fingers reach his bruise again.

“Ross,” George moaned into his arm as the sensation hit. Pressure, something that was not pure pleasure but spiced, and yet it felt different from the sharp feeling before. If George had any control left it would’ve been swept away from the wave that rolled through him. His left grabbed the sheets tightly as his mind and body tried to ascertain what was happening to him. The feeling was just as intense, just as pleasurable as before but it seemed duller – and _god_ , it rolled through him with insistence, seeping into his every cell. Slowly, deeply, and as though it became part of him.

George felt his cock throb with need as his body tried to make sense of the utterly arousing feeling. He leaned towards the sheets and buried his face in it to stifle his needy moans while Ross’ hips still adhered to their rhythm. The fabric rubbed across George’s sensitive nipple but none of the feelings seemed to stand out – they all combined into a whirl of slow, deep sensations that George couldn’t help but fall victim to. A blunt pressure in every atom that was all the stronger for its intensity. Low sounds crawled from his throat and in his back, Ross joined in. His hand moved on but the rhythmic throbbing of his injuries, hell, of his entire being remained. George had no control over himself anymore but he didn’t need it. Not when Ross took his leg and lifted it, carrying all the weight and grunting in arousal. His cock slid deeper and George surrendered himself to pleasure. On his side, with his legs parted and Ross’ cock moving along his passage – there was hardly anything more George could ask for.

Behind him, Ross sped up his thrusts and George felt his groin push against his back. He could _feel_ Ross’ attempt to restrain himself and to mind George’s state, along with the need that he resonated. Every thrust came quicker than the one before and the sound of flesh on flesh blended into the crackling noises of the fire. The smell of sex clung to both of them and fresh sweat covered to their skin. Gushes of hot breath hit George’s neck again as Ross continued to grunt in a low voice – the sound of need that George craved whenever they met. The vibrations seemed to tickle down his neck, caught by the scratch of Ross’ stubble on his shoulder. His body was alive with calm attention and soaked up Ross’ movements and touches, his sounds and smell. Every detail joined perfectly with the strange sensations George’s body was caught in. Intoxicating arousal that spread and seeped deep into him, chased by the fatigue he couldn’t shake.

“George,” Ross growled in his back and snapped his hips harder against the banker.  George was too far gone to answer; it almost seemed as though this wasn’t a shared moment but a separate experience for them. Where George was utterly calm Ross’ movements were born from lust and urgency yet both of them were well on their way to the climax. His right arm slid under George’s body, came to rest on his chest and Ross pulled him closer. A low moan resonated through the room, impossible to say who uttered it, and Ross’ next thrust brushed firmly along George’s prostate. Low waves of pleasure trickled through the banker and all but shook him – his hand tightened around the sheets and when Ross repeated the motion, George’s eyes fell shut in pleasure. God, this was so good. Ross’ thrusts became faster with every passing moment, his moans huskier and George knew the brunet wouldn’t last much longer. Ross’ cock twitched inside him and George felt his own thighs quiver. He leaned further into his sheets, offering himself up to Ross – in hopes that this might go on forever, that this sensation was here to stay. On the inside, he felt utterly calm and at ease like the assault had never happened to him. Like he had always laid here in perfect balance, somewhere between sleep and waking and wrapped in exquisite pleasure. 

Ross traded his quick thrusts for deep ones, his cock pushing against all the right places inside George. He lay halfway on his stomach and still Ross’ sweaty chest was pressed against his back, the unharmed side of his torso clutched in passionate embrace. Ross’ left held George’s thigh and the banker felt his fingertips dig deeper into his skin with every thrust Ross delivered.  Hard and in a messy rhythm he thrust into him and George listened to both their moans as they fucked with abandon, as George let himself be fucked with abandon. His cock leaked against his stomach and rubbed against the sheets with every other thrust while his head still rested on his arm, his eyelids heavier than they had ever been. In his back he felt Ross’ chest heave while his hips moved and stumbled. Ross’ weigh and warmth behind him felt strangely soothing while the fire warmed George’s chest. His fingers held on to the edge of the mattress loosely and Ross’ thrusts rolled through him with deep pleasure in their wake. Nothing mattered to George except this moment, except these sensations.

“Fuck, George,” Ross hissed between gritted teeth, the vowels slurred, and George knew he was close. His cock twitched inside George’s passage in a plea to come and with the next hard thrust Ross’ hips lost all their control. George’s breath stumbled as Ross spilled into him – his groin pushed against his arse, his hips were jerking and his cock brushed against George’s prostate again. Every quiver of Ross’ cock made George feel further gone. And when Ross pressed his lips on the spot where George’s neck met his shoulder and thrust again, the banker peaked. George gasped when pressure rose from deep inside his groin. His orgasm hit him in ripples and took him higher, one by one growing in intensity and god, his muscles began to quiver all over his body. From his thighs to his stomach, his arms and chest. The muscles in his stomach cramped shortly and brought a flash of sharpness into the mixture. Wave upon wave of pleasure surged through him and George could barely keep up – his head reeled and his body was so goddamn _tired_ but at the same time it was capable of drawing these feelings from his nerves. Release washed over him like waves rolling onto Hendrawna beach: slowly, relentlessly, ever onwards, and when one wave receded the next took over. Ross’ cock still moved inside him and it all combined into an incredibly intense maelstrom of pleasure. Broken syllables stumbled over George’s dry lips, his breath caught in his throat as he seemed to lose all hold on reality. There was only pure, undiluted sensation which picked him up and threw him around at its will. And by god, George was ready to let go. Colourful sparks illuminated the dark behind his eyelids. His cock spilled over the sheets and onto his skin but he barely noticed – not one event stood out when it was all blended together.

In his back Ross’ hips stopped squirming and the hot breath in his neck faded but George was still caught in his orgasm. His nerves tingled, his muscles quivered with exhaustion and only slowly the intensity eased. His body was so incredibly heavy and deep inside him he felt relaxation: physical, mental, it was all the same.

George groaned as Ross’ cock slipped from him but it was instinct more than anything else. His orgasm receded only slowly and George felt every last bit of it. The faint tingle of the experienced high, the calm after the eventful night, his exhaustion pulling him towards sleep… His breath came easier now and in his nostrils the smell of the fire, of Ross and of sex melted into a comforting scent. Behind him Ross moved backwards and a quick gush of cool air cooled the sweat on his back – but then the brunet pulled him close again, away from the soiled spot on his sheets. George hardly registered the gesture any more. Sleep pulled him in, quickly and deeply, and moments later he drifted off.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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